


dreams of faerie

by heartofstanding



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Magic, References to the Silmarillion, references to character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-28 05:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17781152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartofstanding/pseuds/heartofstanding
Summary: Thorin is caught up by an elven-spell and sees more than dreams.





	dreams of faerie

At first, all that Thorin knows is the golden light. Perfect, untouchable light, as bright and as far away as the sun, moon and stars. But it is woven into the air around him, and his eyes slowly take in everything and how _clear_ and how _perfect_ it seems, high-vaulted halls hewn from stone so alive it seems to breathe beneath his fingers. The stone has been carved into the shapes of many living things. The pillars are trees, carved with leaves that seem to quiver in the breeze. Before him is a hart shaped in white marble with dark, intelligent eyes of obsidian.

And yet for all the stone around him, he hears fair voices singing – _elves_ , he thinks, but far fairer than his memories – and with them the nightingales and other birds that he doesn't know the name for. The air is heavy with the scent of flowers, sweet but never cloying. Thorin shakes off hunger and weariness as his feet follow the voices, down into the light.

Everything is crisp, fairer and far more real than he has ever thought possible. As real as day when the sun was new in the sky, but the night is no less beautiful than the day. This is a place that time and shadow may leave no stain upon, its walls indestructible and impregnable. A dragon may roar at its gate and armies may amass at its borders, but the girdle shall hold firm.

As he ventures further, so he sees them. Silver-haired and proud, the Elven-king with eyes that knew the most perfect and clear light, and at his side, his Faerie Queen, nightingales in her hair and a smile blessing her lips.

+

The halls Thorin wakes in are not the halls of that place, not Faerie, but somewhere colder and less fair and wearied by the relentless count of days and a people held in the thrall of their slow defeat. The light here is not golden and perfect, but amber and shadows linger in the corner. The king upon the throne is alone, smaller, jaded but still proud, golden hair and a crown of red berries upon his hair.

_Thranduil._

Thorin pulls away from the guards who hold him, staring down at his bound wrists. He turns back, but the passageways are dim and he sees no way back to the golden halls ruled by the silver king and his faerie queen. He turns back to Thranduil who is gazing on him sternly, no hint of sympathy.

'What are you doing in this forest?'

He's hungry, Thorin realises, and he wasn't before, not in that place, and slowly his memories fade back in, their slow, torturous journey through these accursed woods, the giant spiders, running out of food, the enchanted stream—

Thranduil's face is still, as still as carved stone, but Thorin can feel the impatience pouring out of him. He has to give an answer, because he doesn't want to prolong this. The sooner he answers, the sooner he will be free to sleep and dream of those golden halls.

'Looking for food and drink, because we were starving.'

He thinks he's said those words before. Thranduil's eyes twitch, almost unnoticeably, but Thorin sees. Mahal, he's so hungry that the idea of throwing off his guards and climbing Thranduil's thrones to eat the berries out of his crown seems like a fantastic idea. It even seems doable.

'But what brought you into the forest at all?' But Thranduil's voice is disinterested and he seems to glance east, where Erebor lies. He knows, _knows_ , that Thorin has only one purpose for coming this far east, venturing into these dark woods.

Thorin keeps his mouth shut this time, and silence falls. One of Thranduil's guards shifts nervously. Finally, Thranduil stands.

'Very well.' He turns to one of the guards. 'Take him away and keep him safe until he feels inclined to tell the truth, even if we must wait for the passing of this age.'

+

Thorin dreams he is in those beautiful halls again, but everything is wrong. The silver king, Greycloak, is dead, his blood spreading across the floors. The birds are silent and the queen has fled. All around him is in disarray, the light marred with blood and deep shadows, the fair-folk fleeing and these _creatures_ with burning hands and greed and hate in their eyes chase them through a thousand caves with bright swords and axes, slaying all they can reach. Screams in the air and he draws back against the wall, tries to avoid being seen but there's so many.

One turns to him, raising an axe already stained with blood, and—

+

'Be still,' Thranduil says, quietly, 'It is done.'

Thranduil's hand is cool upon his brow and he presses a cup of clear water to his mouth. Thorin drinks thirstily, but his eyes seek out Thranduil, who is not even looking at him.

'But. I _saw_ —'

Thranduil turns to him and the look in his eyes takes Thorin's breath away. Such desolation and yet this youthful fear, a man who never outgrew the nightmares of his youth. 'What you saw is thousands of years past. It is done and over. I am sorry you had to see such things.'

Thorin nods slowly. _Past._ Not a dream, some fantasy, but history itself. _Thousands of years._

'How do you know what it is I saw?'

Thranduil smiles tightly, getting up. 'You should eat. I believe you claimed thrice to be starving. And when you are ready to speak, I will be waiting.'

He turns to go, but Thorin flings a hand out and manages to grab his wrist before Thranduil has left. 'Thranduil. How do you know?'

Thranduil's jaw clenches, a muscle jumps in his cheek. Thorin slowly lets go of his arm and Thranduil steps back.

'It is a memory,' Thranduil says, 'An elf has many things written in their memories – some things joyful, beautiful and others... fearful and filled with sorrow. You saw Doriath. I dwelt there, for a time. As a child.'

'As a child?'

'Our king was murdered and the kingdom fell. I came of age in the Havens of Sirion, before that fell as well.' Thranduil is quiet for a long moment, then shakes his head. 'As I said, it is the past. Let it be forgotten. It is but a dream for you.'

Thranduil smiles then, a weak thing, but meant, and Thorin nods slowly.

'You should eat,' Thranduil says, voice soft, and this time, Thorin lets him go.


End file.
